The Ant Hill, South Ariel Butte, Progeny Peak

03/24/26 

It was a race against the sun. Not a moment to waste. No dilly-dallying, no sight seeing, no moseying along at a leisurely pace. Night was on its way. I did not want to be there when it arrived. And where is there exactly? Somewhere on a mountain, that's where. I had driven up to the East Rim of Zion National Park, hoping to nab a few summits before the day came to a close. Unfortunately, I'd gotten quite a late start, so if I was gonna do what I'd had in mind I'd have to kick it into maximum gear and climb up these things as fast as I could. Progeny Peak. South Ariel Butte. The Ant Hill. All of 'em relatively close to the road, none of them particularly easy. Especially the Ant Hill. Oh boy. The Ant Hill. What a peak. I'd climb that one first; best to get the hard stuff over with before moving on to the "easier" things. 

It was shaping up to be a ridiculous endeavor, perhaps the most ridiculous of my entire life. My arms were already shot from a day of rock climbing at Lambs Knoll. Went with a group of coworkers, tried out a few routes. Chicken Head. Cowboy Arête. Invagination. None of 'em real easy, none of 'em real hard. Except Cowboy Arête. That one was a wee bit tricky. But we each took turns trying it out and we all made it up the thing, one way or another. By the time our exciting excursion to the Knoll came to a close, I could barely make a fist, my arms pretty much done for the day. Couldn't say the same for my legs though, so I suppose that's the underlying reason I set out on this silly peak bagging endeavor in the first place. Had to even things out. Had to be sore all over. Otherwise my chi would be unbalanced or something kooky like that. 

Cowboy Arête

I drove up to the East Rim of Zion National Park, found an empty pullout and immediately began walking up to the Ant Hill. It was just before 5:30pm. Wow, what a late start. Most folks were heading up or down the road, enjoying the scenic evening, maybe pulling off to the side to walk to some cool slickrock formations and chill and watch the sunset or something. That would've been a lot more pleasant than what I was doing, but I was determined and I kept going, relaxation and mirth be damned. 

Heading up to the Ant Hill

I decided to take a stupid way to reach the base of the Ant Hill, heading up a very steep slope just to the west of the standard approach. Why I chose this route I do not know, but it definitely added a little spice to the mix. At the end of the slope were some class 3 slabs that I had to surmount, the scramble interesting and quite fun. I enjoyed it while I could; this would be the last "easy" section before the harrowing climb to the summit. 

Once past the class 3 section, I continued north, the intimidating Ant Hill finally coming into view. It didn't look as scary as it did from the road, but my oh man, what a mountain. I could already tell that it was gonna be an absolute pain to climb, but I carried on regardless, angling towards its southwest face.

The Ant Hill

I snaked my way up the southwest face, the going steep, slippery and loose. The gnarly slickrock terrain of the East Rim stretched out before me, the views more and more spectacular the higher I went. Up and up loose rock and slippery sandstone, I shimmied my way across a ledge, trying to gain the exposed south ridge. A few funky moves later and I was on my way to the ridge, something I was not looking forward to climbing in the slightest.

Ahh, the south ridge. I'd read about it in Stav's trip report of his route to the summit, and man, he wasn't kidding. Said the thing was "vertigo inducing" and brother, he was right. The ridge itself isn't too bad. The thing is slanted at a comfortable angle; it ain't terrifyingly steep, no worse than class 3. But it's mostly featureless, the rock quality is wayyyyyyyy worse than that on Tabernacle Dome, and the exposure is absolutely insane. If you were to slip or lose control...that would be it. 

I lingered at the base for a moment, debating whether or not I could comfortably climb down the thing on my way back. I never climb up something that I don't think I can climb back down, and this one was definitely treading the line. I figured that since I'd made the effort to get this far I might as well give it a try, so carefully, slowly, I moseyed my way up the thing, my brain firing on all cylinders, locked in and ready to turn around at a moment's notice. 

The south ridge. Good lord.

I got about halfway up the thing, making it past most of the featureless section. After that, I tried to climb up stuff that had some type of texture or holds, making sure to test each one since the rock quality was so bad. Finally, after spending many a careful moment on the south ridge, I finally made it to more agreeable terrain, climbing up loose ledges to a flat spot just beneath the final push to the summit.

The final push to the summit. I climbed up the shady, brushy gully

I wasn't too stoked by this point and strongly debated turning around. That electrifying ascent up the south ridge shivered my timbers right to the core, and I knew that going down would be a slow, tedious exercise in extreme caution. It all came down to time, and I figured that if I was gonna climb the other two peaks that evening I'd better turn around while I could. 

But alas, the summit was near and the thrill of adventure mixed with my endless curiosity propelled me forward. I could see the rest of the route to the summit, a shady gully leading up to near-vertical walls. I stared out at the views to the east and west, the sun falling from the sky and casting long shadows on the white cliffs and dark canyons. I'd made it this far, I'd done the work, I'd made it past the crux. Might as well keep going, you know? And so, after tightening my shoes, I traversed into the gully, beginning the final ascent to the summit.

Didn't take no pictures until I reached the summit; I was too focused on the route. The gully was steep and loose and sandy, and once I'd reached the near-vertical walls I had to focus up to find the path of least resistance. Fortunately, the rock quality was a little better up there, and the holds were nice and big and once I found the correct route I scampered on up to the top no problem.

Ant Hill summit, looking towards Nippletop and Co.

Ant Hill summit, looking towards East Temple

I probably spent three minutes on the summit. A picture here, a picture there, a moment or two to absorb the scene, and that was it. No register to be found, no sign of any recent human activity. The only evidence of anybody being up there at all was a small stack of rocks marking the spot to begin the descent. 

A slight breeze, long shadows, night on its way, the day coming to a close, the terrain rugged and steep and sharp and crazy and unfathomable. I could hear the road down below, hear the cars and the motorcycles, hear the plops of sweat falling from my face and the crunch of dirt underfoot. And the breeze rolled on through, gently caressing my shirt, and the lighting became stranger, weaker, painting the surrounding country in a whole new way, changing the tone, changing the vibe. I stood up there for a few more seconds, thinking of nothing in particular, my mind at ease and ready for the descent. One last look, one last sweep, one last realization that I'd never see this view again, never see it the same way, never see it with the same lighting, the same sounds, the same sensations. Goodbye, Ant Hill. You won't be missed.

Looking down...

Needless to say, the descent sucked. Absolutely sucked. I carefully made my way down the near-vertical section and dropped down into the gully, kicking down rocks and sand the whole flim-flammin' way. Ripped my shorts, scraped my legs. And then it was off to the south ridge, the one thing that I knew would be the worst of it, the one thing that I'd least been looking forward to, the one thing I knew would take at least three years to descend carefully, the one thing that would give me a taste of my mortality, the one thing that demanded perfection. No mistakes. No mess ups. Had to be perfect. One hundred percent. 

Woulda been easier with approach shoes, that's for sure. My trailrunners didn't have the greatest purchase, and I found myself slipping once every two minutes, my butt and hands gripping the slick sandstone like a lumberjack would his favorite axe. I recall taking a break just above the featureless section, my brain on fire, my lips dry, my arms and hands no longer sore from a day of rock climbing. I looked at the drop, absorbed the exposure, said, "Well, if I lose control I'll just aim for that tree." And so I began crab-walkin' down towards said tree, a small, scraggily pine that had decided to make its home in the most disgusting sandstone imaginable. With great skill and an ounce of adrenaline I made it to the tree without slipping once, totally in control, so focused on the task at hand I didn't even perceive the passage of time. I looked up, looked down, chuckled, and then continued on with the descent.

Holy Moly

Class 3 ledges

I traversed across some ledges, the going a lil' tricky but nothing compared to what I'd just done. I crab-walked down the southwest face, feelin' light as a feather, my arms and legs fresher than a baked loaf straight out of the oven. I hopped and skipped my way down, found those class 3 slabs, descended 'em, and then jogged the rest of the way back to the car. I hopped in, sweaty as can be, and immediately drove to a pullout at the base of South Ariel Butte. Shadows all around, the lighting orange, the summit bathed in golden light, fading fast. Had to make it up there before it disappeared. 

Heading up South Ariel Butte

I walked up the slickrock, my quads on fire, my face a waterfall of sweat and salt. The cars shrank, the road became a thin line, the occasional laugh or shout drifted through the air from far below, people out and about, walking along the road, sitting in their cars, sitting on the ground, watching the sky turn dark, watching the orange cliffs, the setting sun, the cooling temps, the transition of day into night. None paid any mind to the freak on the mountain, the one loony who was walking up from the south chasing the last dying rays of sunlight on the summit. 

Traversing west

The loony made it just beneath the summit and began traversing west so as to avoid cliffs and exposure and crumbly rock and ridiculous scrambling. The loony followed a social trail, weaving up and down through manzanita and pine, a cliff above, a cliff below, the Ant Hill looming to the west, the golden light fading fast. The loony scrambled up some stuff, started heading north, moved through loose talus and crumbly rock. The loony gained a ridge of sorts and scampered up class 3 stuff, reaching the summit just as the last rays of sunlight evaporated away from the rocks like an ephemeral pool of tepid water. And the loony sat down, took photos, watched as the colors on the cliffs turned from orange to red, watched the sun dip below the horizon, watched the shadow of the Earth rise from the east, twilight in full swing, dusk well on its way. 

Class 3 stuff to the summit

Nippletop and Co. from South Ariel Butte

Crazy Quilt Mesa

Aries Butte

West, the Ant Hill dominating most of the picture

I stayed up there for a minute or two, debating whether or not I could make it to Progeny before everything became completely dark. The longer I debated the less chance I'd have of success, so, with one last looksie around, I climbed back down the class 3 stuff, scampered on down to the west side of the mountain and followed the social trail back to the steep slickrock. I heard voices from down below, voices originating from the now popular "Many Pools" hike, voices echoing off the cliffs, laughs and shouts and drones and strange mumblings, all of 'em imperceptible. I stopped for a moment to try and find the originators of these noises, my eyes scanning the canyon down below. There were probably a few groups down there but I never saw 'em. Just heard 'em. Crazy how far sound can travel.

I made it to the car, my legs aching, my arms back to feelin' sore as ever. I was about done for the day and considered calling it, wanting nothing more than to just head on home and cook up some pasta and finally relax. But I'd saved the easiest peak for last, the route to the summit fairly quick and straightforward, the going no harder than class 2 (as long as I stayed on route). I started the car and left the choice up to fate, letting the wind guide my hand. And sure enough the wind guided my hand to a pullout at the base of Progeny Peak. The sun had set, everything now in shadow, the tallest peaks reflecting the light emanating from beneath the horizon. I grabbed a headlamp, sighed, and jogged up to the summit.

Headin' up to Progeny Peak

Progeny Peak summit

What ensued was a complete exercise in selfishness. I didn't climb it for the beauty, didn't climb it for the workout, didn't climb it to see the sights and smell the smells. I climbed it simply for the sake of climbing it, because I could climb it, because it was there and it was a challenge and it was all for me, me, me. I climbed it for the ego, my mind was set and I moved up the mountain with singular purpose and great efficiency. And I was completely soaked in sweat and huffing and puffing like workhorse about to die and my legs were numb and my lungs on fire and I was hackin' loogies left and right and I scurried past Two Pines Arch, not stopping once, no pictures, no enjoyment. And I angled east and scampered onward and upward, reaching the summit at dusk, out of breath, eyes wide and feelin' quite silly truth be told. And I lingered for less than a minute, snapped some quick photos, donned the headlamp and then immediately began the descent, retracing my steps through the growing darkness. 

The Ant Hill from Progeny Peak

Heading down, view west

Dusky hikin'

And I moved off the mountain fairly quickly, the route burned into my mind, only getting off track once or twice. I saw the headlights of vehicles moving up and down the road, the sounds of their engines growing louder with each passing step. I hopped down to the road, jumped in the car, rolled down the windows. Folks were making their way back from watching the sunset on the Canyon Overlook trail, all of ;em lumbering along the side of the road, some with headlamps, some with phone flashlights, most with nothing at all. It was just before 8:30pm. Holy moly. Three peaks, three hours. Felt much longer, I can tell you that much.

I drove off, coasting down through the tunnel, driving out of the park to pasta and peppers and a nice comfy bed. It had been a glorious day, one so glorious it almost felt like two. Rock climbin' in the morning and afternoon, peak baggin' in the evening. Yep. This was a good one, a genuine, bona fide shirt and tie adventure. One thing's for sure though: I'm never climbing the Ant Hill again without a rope. Sure, approach shoes would be fine and all, but that exposure was not to my liking. Like I mentioned in a previous post, it's all relative. I've done sketchier things, but for some reason, whatever reason, I simply didn't vibe with that south ridge. Some people will find it easy, some will find it hard. To each their own. 

As for me, it's no bueno. But everything else was sweet. I'll have to go back one day to pay South Ariel and Progeny a proper visit. No rushin' around. No ego scrambling. Just a relaxing day in the mountains, one where I can take my time and appreciate the beauty of the summit.

Moqui Peak and Tabernacle Dome

03/23/26

Things had settled down a bit, the pace had slowed, my freakish desire to reach every peak, knob, bump and protuberance I could find had now since diminished. Back to taking it easy, taking it slow. Back to enjoying the territory one step at a time, to stop and smell the flowers, to feel the soft sand underfoot and sit back, relax, and observe the slow arc of the sun in the sky. 

It had been a few days since I overdid it on St. Paddy's day, my legs were well rested and I was itchin' to get out there in the sticks once again to see the sights and touch some dirt and whatnot. Plus I had these brand new trail runners that I wanted to try out; my beat up Altras weren't exactly cutting it anymore for the ol' feet. Not wanting to overdo it again, I decided to check out some quick and funky peaks, peaks that require a short approach but offer plentiful route-finding, scrambling and the like. There exist two peaks that fit this bill to a T: the rugged Moqui Peak and the gorgeous Tabernacle Dome. Both located in the western reaches of Zion National Park, these peaks not only require short (but funky) scrambles to their summits, but are also practically located right next to each other, making them a great combo for a fantastic day in the wilds. And so, on March 23rd, I set off for the Kolob Terrace road, parking at a random pullout parallel to the northeast face of Moqui Peak. 

I locked the car and then began a short trek through bushes and shrubs to the base of Moqui Peak's northeast face. My goal was to find a way to get to a particular ledge that would take me to where I needed to go. Only issue was that I wasn't 100% sure what ledge to choose. Too low and I'd be beneath the cliffs, too high and I'd get cliffed out. The sweet spot was to be right in the middle, following the correct ledge as it wraps around to the south side of the mountain.

From what I'd read about this peak I knew that the route-finding would be funky as ever, but I had studied the route well enough beforehand (thank goodness) that I was about 70% sure on which ledge to take. I moseyed up to the northeast face, climbed up some loose class 2 stuff and gained what looked to be a great ledge, following it as it wrapped around to the south. Saw some cliffs down below, cliffs up above. Yup. I'd picked the correct ledge. Whoopee! 

Skirting around to the south

I followed the ledge for a bit, noticing traces of a use trail here and there in the sandy dirt. The cliffs to my right eventually became less imposing, opening up at one point in a steep, little chute. This was my entry chute to gain the north side of the peak. From what I'd read I'd have to ascend this chute and squeeze through a "portal" to gain the north side. So I left the ledge and scrambled up into the chute, careful to avoid prickly cacti and loose, crumbly nonsense. 

I stayed to the right, ascending loose class 2 stuff until encountering an interesting class 3/4 obstacle near the top of the chute. Once past that I continued on to a dead end, the fabled "portal" to the north nowhere to be seen. So I traversed over to the left, using a tree for balance, carefully climbing up more class 2/3 stuff until the notable "portal" suddenly appeared in front of me. 

About halfway up the chute. I went right and then traversed left

"The Portal"

Oh yeah. "The Portal." What a feature. I squeezed through the thing, reminding myself that I was actually  hundreds of feet up a mountain and not deep in a slot canyon somewhere in the middle of the nowhere. I left behind the sunny, prickly, loose world of the south and entered the shady, cool, smooth world of the north. Out of the portal, I made a left, immediately noticing these fantastic sandstone alcoves situated above a perilous cliff. Super, super cool stuff; I lingered in one of the alcoves for a minute, soaking in the beautiful views of Tab Dome, the Guardian Angels and the tiny, curvy line of the KTR winding up through the high desert. 

I reluctantly left the alcove and continued on my trek to the summit, making the first available left when I could. I hopped through some brush and yucca until encountering what some had called the crux of the route: a class 4 slab with no exposure. I'll admit the thing was a little tricky to surpass, but then I decided to use the tree right next to it for support and that made things 100% easier. After that, it was pretty cut and dry the rest of the way to the summit, just zig-zaggin' and sloggin' it up loose dirt and rocks until finally reaching the final scramble. 

Class 4 obstacle. Use the tree. It helps.

Moqui Peak summit

Ahh, the final scramble. This was, without a doubt, the definite crux of the route: a steep little climb with a bit of exposure on piss-poor rock. The official route to the summit is an interesting rock climb that requires the use of a rope. Since it was just me, my hands and my shoes, I lingered left, trying to find an easier way up the thing. After some experimentation I finally picked a route, the thing a little sketchy but no harder than class 3.

Once I'd made it past the more crumbly sections of the route I was gifted with a wonderful surprise: a beautiful arch just below the summit. Man, this peak really has it all. You could ditch the summit and just go off and explore all it has to offer; it's like Zion National Park in microcosm. 

My chosen route

An arch just below the summit

I continued along, bypassing the arch and then quickly scrambling up to the airy summit. Couldn't see any signs of recent human visitation, but the plentiful bird droppings indicated that the place is a mighty popular spot for our avian friends. The views, simply put, were fantastic. They were similar to those on Lambs Knoll but much more...exciting. Panoramic views of the Kolob Terrace stretched out all around me, the surrounding desert finally starting to turn a little green. I sat down, wolfed down some calories, and reaped the benefits of my labor. 

Looking towards Lambs Knoll

Tabernacle Dome and such

Southeast

South

Southwest

But as with all summits, one must eventually climb back down, and so, eager to do a little more exploring, I started my way down the sketchy section, the going much more difficult on the descent. Slow and steady was the name of the game, and soon I was off the hard stuff and back to sloggin' it down to those beautiful alcoves.

I did a little pokin' and peakin' around on my way over, checking out some of the formations, climbing up to one of the many sub peaks on the mountain. Once I'd satisfied my curiosity I made for the alcoves and posted up shop there for quite a while, figuring this spot to be better than the summit itself. Shaded, secluded and endowed with terrific views, these alcoves are definitely worth the bit of work it takes to reach them, summit be damned. I coulda stayed there all day.

Moqui Peak from one of its sub peaks

But I had a dome to climb and I was starin' at it damn near the whole time I was at the alcoves so I squeezed through the portal and carefully made my way back down the steep, southern chute. Back at the ledge, I followed my footprints to that class 2 stuff I'd surpassed earlier that morning, walking through bushes and sticks and cactus all the way back to the car. I hopped in, chugged some water and then set off just a little ways up the road, parking in another pullout just to the northwest of Tabernacle Dome.

Heading down the chute...

Tabernacle Dome

I followed an old dirt road for a bit, the thing eventually becoming more of a use trail as it curved south towards the dome. Navigation wasn't too difficult; it would appear that this peak gets quite a bit of traffic. The use trail eventually splintered apart, forcing me to choose one of many routes. Didn't really matter which one I picked though 'cause they all end up heading into a dry wash at the base of the dome. I entered the wash, trying to find the correct entry chute to begin the climb. This, in my opinion, was the most difficult part of the whole trek. Once you find the correct chute it's easy going, but in the meantime (especially if you don't have a gpx file or map like I did) expect to engage in a few brief bouts of trial and error.

I eventually found the correct chute, thinking to myself "I suppose that looks like low class 5." In front of me was an angled wall with minimal holds, the exposure nothing to write home about. After surpassing this obstacle relatively quickly I came to the conclusion that it couldn't be worse than class 4, but again, I suppose it's all relative. I followed a well-traveled use trail up into the cliffs, the going straight forward and pleasant.

Looking down the class 4/5 section

Pretty soon I encountered the next obstacle: a class 4 waterfall chute that was actually quite fun to climb. Just hopped up the thing like Spiderman, easy-peasy lemon squeezy. Again, all of this is relative so to some this might be the scariest thing ever. If this is the case I recommend turning around while you still can because brother, you ain't gonna enjoy what comes next. No sirree bob. 

Class 4 waterfall chute

The dome comes into view...

Once past the chute I continued to follow the use trail, Tabernacle Dome eventually making an appearance in the distance. I downclimbed some steep stuff, angling towards the base of the exposed northwest ridge. There are many ways to reach the northwest ridge; my advice it to pick whatever path is easiest. Once at the base I took a quick break, gazing up at the steep, exposed ridge rising directly in front of me. Lucky for me, I had already grown familiar with exposed Zion scrambles and I could tell just from looking at this ridge that it would be pretty simple for one glaring reason: the rock was fantastic! The stuff was grippy, textured, fairly solid and just plain amazing compared to the disgusting white sandstone of which I've grown familiar with over the past month. And so, eager to reach the summit, I tightened my shoes, fastened my pack, and then began the exciting ascent. 

The exposed northwest ridge

A final bit of class 2/3 to the summit

Again, this is all relative. To some, this climb could be the most insane thing they've ever done. A fall from this ridge would definitely be fatal, so it's certainly not a place to mess around and make mistakes. Wiser parties might bring a rope, although some (like myself) could be perfectly content climbing up and down the thing with no aid whatsoever. The ridge itself isn't terribly steep and has good holds, with only one, brief, fairly featureless section proving to be the most difficult part of the whole climb. I have a rule that I'll never climb up something I can't comfortably climb down, and so far, the thing was well within my comfort zone. With patience and care I slowly made my way up, the rock solid, my shoes providing ample traction. Soon I had surpassed the most exposed bit and proceeded on relatively straightforward class 2/3 terrain the rest of the way to the summit. 

What? A register? On a Zion peak? 

There was a register up there, something I was not expecting in the slightest. There were a few booklets inside, some in better shape than others. The last entry was from three days prior. Seems like this peak gets at least one visitor every week, and I could see why, 'cause holy moly, what a view. To the east I received a crystal-clear view of the Guardian Angels; to the west I could see much of the Kolob Terrace and Moqui Peak, looking rugged and crumbly and infinitely enticing. I made my marks, ate a granola bar, and then set off to the south, the views there looking to be utterly fantastic. 

The Guardian Angels

Moqui Peak center

Northwest

South

I posted up on some rocks to the south, the dome dropping off in front of me, the wind zipping through my hair, the view excellent. I sat there for what seemed like a long, long time, doing nothing but soaking in the sun and watching the occasional vehicle trudge its way up the notoriously steep KTR. Off and away in the distance rose a green little nubbin, the humble Crater Hill no doubt. I had had my fill of cinder cone volcanoes, my desire to climb any more at an all time low. But for some reason this one held my interest; couldn't tell you why. After much deliberation, I decided to check it out on the drive back. But in the meantime: more sloth, more relaxation, more sun-soakin' and starin' and gawkin' and gapin'. 

I reluctantly got up, stretched my legs, and then carefully made my way back down the northwest ridge. Oddly enough, the thing was much easier on the descent than on the way up; I simply butt-scooted down the whole thing. 

There was a trail runner guy hangin' out at the bottom of the ridge, his demeanor and melancholic expression conveying a general feeling of defeatedness. I caught up to him and asked him what was up. Said he made it about halfway up the ridge before he got psyched out from the exposure. Said he'd bring a rope next time. I told him that was a smart move. And then we said our goodbyes and he zipped off down the mountain, prancing away like all trail runners do. 

Heading down

The man took a different route than I did on the approach, so I decided to follow him to see if he knew something I didn't. And wouldn't you know it, the guy had found the easiest route off the dome in all of existence. Gotta love them trail runners; they're all about efficiency. All I can say is that I'm definitely gonna take his way on the ascent the next time I climb this peak. Wayyy easier than the way I went. 

Easy as it was, I still had to downclimb that class 4 waterfall chute and the class 4/5 obstacle a bit farther down. These (in my opinion) were pretty straightforward descents; after butt-scooting down that exposed ridge these things were practically a walk in the park. I retraced my steps out of the dry wash and back to the use trail, following it the rest of the way to the car. I hopped in, started 'er up, and then drove on down the road to Crater Hill. 

Crater Hill

I drove up Dalton Wash, parking at the trailhead for the "Whole Guacamole," whatever that is. I proceeded to walk down the dusty road to the park boundary, Crater Hill looming in the distance. The thing looked like a fun little slog that promised some interesting views, so I hastily crossed the park boundary, following a use trail along a fence towards the base of the hill's west slope. 

West Slope

One of two summit cairns

The trail became less and less defined the farther I followed it, but that was alright because it was plain ol' obvious where to go. Open, loose, grassy terrain stretched before me, the route to the summit looking to be a typical cinder cone slog. I left the trail and began the steep ascent of the west face, taking my time and admiring the increasingly scenic views to the west and south. Eventually I topped off on the summit, the views to the north, south and west quite excellent. There were a couple of summit cairns up there; I found the eastern one to be the higher of the two but they're practically at the same elevation. 

North

South

West

I ventured east, dropping a little ways off the summit to gain a better view of the country. My oh man, this was far and away the best one I'd seen all day. 'Twas definitely worth the trek to the summit. Situated to the east was the best view of the West Temple and Mt. Kinesava I've ever seen in my entire life. It was absolutely spectacular; words cannot describe the grandeur, splendor and magnificence of these sublime mountains. I put my pack behind my head, rolled back into the comfy cinders, and stared at this view for a good 45 minutes, watching as the clouds cast ghostly shadows on the impressive cliffs in the distance.

Wow

I woulda stayed until sunset had it not been for my stomach. I had unfortunately ran out of food and the thing was grumblin' and growlin' like a grumpy gremlin, and so, grudgingly, I strapped on my back and boot-skied off the summit. I walked back along the fence, back to the park boundary, back down the road to the car and down through Dalton Wash and beyond. 

The day had gone exactly according to plan, the peaks had been excellent, the mileage minimal and the exploration phenomenal. I'll definitely return to Tab Dome and Crater Hill in the future; not too sure about good ol' Moqui Peak. Though the summit was cool and all I personally found the alcoves on the northeast side of the mountain to be the superior destinations. But who knows. One thing's for sure: I need to get me some dang approach shoes. Them's would sure come in handy, let me tell yah! Trailrunners are great and all but you can't beat the grippy rubber of a good ol' approach shoe. 

I've made do this past week with my new trailrunners, using them for things that are definitely out of their pay grade. The things are plain awesome and so far they've held up surprisingly well on the rugged terrain of the Zion wilderness. But every time I come back from a trek I always wonder how it woulda gone if I had me some approach shoes. Ahh well. Gotta save up some money. Them things sure ain't cheap.